


Smooth Sailing towards the Iceberg

by misura



Category: The Proposal (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-10 03:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12902739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Margaret tries on her sexy dress for the office Christmas party. Andrew isturned oncompletely unenthusiastic.





	Smooth Sailing towards the Iceberg

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coffeesuperhero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeesuperhero/gifts).



> merry Yuletide! there can never be enough fic about these two, so here's a treat. I hope you'll like it!

"Seriously, _that's_ what you're wearing to the office Christmas party?"

Margaret turned around - _yes, thank you for providing me with that view of your perfect ass_ and smiled at him like Little Miss Innocent. "You like it?" Little Miss Innocent wearing a dress that was so, so not at all innocent, though if you went by total surface, it probably _was_ pretty little.

Andrew swallowed. "It's all right."

"I was cleaning out my closet," Margaret said. _Liar,_ Andrew thought, because yeah, been there, done that, did _not_ find any 'good God, woman, do you want to spend the entire night beating them off with a stick?' dresses. "And I found this old thing, and I thought, well, why bother getting something new when I can just wear this. You really think it's all right?"

She honest-to-God twirled.

Andrew wondered why he'd ever broken things off with Gert. Such a nice girl, Gert. Or Jeannie from Starbucks. He could have gone all sorts of fun places with Jeannie, never mind that he didn't know the first thing about her. (Favorite color? Green, maybe? Or would that remind her of her workplace too much? Did she actually love working at Starbucks or was it more, like, a temporary thing?)

"Well, I wouldn't pay good money for it," Andrew said. "Hope you got it on sale."

"You like it." Margaret stared at him through her eye-lashes. She'd gotten good at that sort of thing - a bit coquettish. Hell of a thing, especially since she only seemed to be doing it in private.

Which was fine, obviously; Andrew did _not_ want her looking coquettishly at anyone else, never mind how badly their book needed promoting by public appearances they were reluctant to agree to for whatever reason. Andrew was perfectly happy enjoying coquettish Margaret in private, thank you.

He did sometimes wish he could be coquettish right back and get the same result. Have _her_ be putty in _his_ hands. Just for once.

"Margaret," he said.

"Yes, Andrew?" She smiled. Tiny, tiny hint of dimples.

"That is a great dress. You know it's a great dress. I know it's a great dress. How about you wear something else? I mean, it's the office Christmas party, not ... you know."

Margaret blinked at him slowly. "You don't think it's suitable?"

"Yes!" Andrew snapped his fingers. "That's exactly the word I was looking for. Thank you. Suitable. Not suitable. That dress. It's - " He gestured. "Pft."

"Editor in chief," Margaret said smugly. As if Andrew had needed the reminder that she was still? again? his boss. "You say 'pft', I say 'not suitable'."

At least he wasn't expected to fetch her coffee anymore in the morning. Or, well, not at work.

"I mean, let's be honest for a moment here, Margaret," Andrew said. "You walk into the office wearing that dress, it kind of sends a message. You know?"

"Look at me, I'm hotter than you slash your girlfriend _and_ better at my job than you are?"

Andrew considered. She wasn't wrong, as such. She wasn't _right_ , but she wasn't wrong. "And is _that_ the message you want to be sending? Or would you rather go for something a little more, you know, friendly. Nice. Collegial. One big happy family."

"Know what I think?" Margaret asked.

"Generally speaking, yes," Andrew said. "I may not always approve or appreciate it, but generally speaking, yes, Margaret, I am a mind-reader. At least when it comes to you. It's a little like - what do they call it again? Stockholm Syndrome?"

"You're jealous." Margaret beamed at him, like she'd sneaked a peek at the sale figures for Spring and they'd turned out to be 20% over expectations. (Or no, not like that, actually; he'd _seen_ what she looked like when that happened, and it had _not_ been pretty. Sexually charged in an intimidating, dominatrix-type fantasy sort of way, maybe, but not pretty.) "That's so cute. You're adorable."

Andrew winced. Margaret cooed at two types of persons, the second type consisting of non-threatening dogs and the pets-slash-younger relatives of authors.

The first type being him, when she was about to crush any and all dreams, objections and/or hopes he might have had up to that point.

"No, I'm not. _You're_ the one who's adorable. Particularly in that dress."

"So you do like it." Margaret smiled smugly.

Andrew shrugged. He wasn't worried about anyone else making nice with Margaret. Or looking, when he knew and they knew and Margaret knew that any touching would result in swift and merciless punishment, possibly but not likely limited to a verbal dressing down and a maiming. "Never claimed otherwise."

He remembered the dresses he'd bought for Margaret (or, well, _ordered_ for Margaret; not like he'd had to pay for them with his own money) on occasion of the last three office Christmas parties. They hadn't been like this. One of them had _almost_ been like this, but he'd thought better of it at the last minute, recalling just in time that boss from hell notwithstanding, he liked his job.

The hours were terrible, the pay was a joke, his boss was a she-devil, but he did like his job. Also, as it turned out, his boss.

Andrew opened his mouth and closed it again when he noticed Margaret was walking over to him, in a roundabout, maximum use of available space sort of way. There was some definite sashaying going on.

Yet another unexpected side to Margaret he hadn't seen before, but felt he could get used to.

"The only place that dress would look better than it looks right now, on you, is right here, on the floor, with you out of it," Andrew said, which had the benefit of being true. Also the disadvantage of being true, but with Margaret, he'd learned to pick his battles.

Besides, nothing wrong with telling a sexy, intelligent, sensitive woman that she was sexy and intelligent.

"Huh," Margaret said. As if she didn't know damn well what that dress was doing to him. Had been doing to him for the past fifteen minutes she'd had it on.

Dear God, he was never going to make it through this evening. Worst office Christmas party ever, including the one when she'd kept him at his desk, working.

"Guess it's giving you some ideas, huh? Firing up the old imagination?"

"I wouldn't say 'old'," Andrew said. "Or imagination. Which that dress leaves very little to, if you know what I mean, and I think that you do, given the fact that you are a clever, smart woman who will not be getting any sex later tonight because her boyfriend will be spending the evening getting very, very drunk."

"At the office Christmas party," Margaret said.

"It's either get drunk or get thrown out for inappropriately touching my boss. Who is also my wife and my girlfriend, but, you know. Boundaries."

"Hm." Margaret looked thoughtful. "What if I promise I'll let you touch my butt?"

Andrew raised an eyebrow. On second thought, he raised both of them. "At the party?" That alone might get them on the short-list for the Most Embarrassing Behavior Displayed Under the Influence of Alcohol and Holiday Spirits.

"Here," Margaret said. "Now. C'mon, you know you want to."

"This is a trick, isn't it? A trap," Andrew said. Margaret hummed a little - _is that Relax? why_ that _song? Did I miss something?_ and put herself within easy touching reach. Without actually doing any touching herself, meaning, no shit, Sherlock, this was a trap, all right.

The only question being: would springing it be worth it?

"You know, we don't _have_ to go to the office Christmas party," Margaret said.

"Actually, we kind of do. Given that I put your name on the list of organizers." It had seemed an inspired idea at the time. A way to say: hello, people, this is the new Margaret and she likes parties just as much as a normal person. A little white lie, to smooth the waters. "But hey, we could be fashionably late. Or even _un_ fashionably late."

"Oh." Margaret stepped back at the same moment Andrew reached for her. Of course she did. Andrew wondered why he even bothered feeling disappointed. "In that case, let's go. Chop, chop."

Andrew groaned. "FYI, I hate you. So, so much right now."

"So what did I do?" Margaret asked. "Catering or decoration? Just so I can decide how much I hate you right back for making people think that I had anything to do with whatever's bad about them."

"You put together a playlist, including all your favorite songs, Christmas and non-Christmas alike," Andrew said. " _And_ you picked the hors d'oeuvres. See? Nothing to worry about."

Margaret glared at him.

Andrew sighed. "It's fine. It's going to be fine."

"I hope so," Margaret said. "For your sake. Because I'm telling you right now, anything goes wrong, this dress isn't going to end up anywhere _near_ a floor in your vicinity, mister."


End file.
